


Candyland

by novel_concept26



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novel_concept26/pseuds/novel_concept26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A combined prompt fill, in which Alison babysits, Helena exhibits the finer points of cheating her ass off, and Kira is probably more adult than the two of them combined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candyland

When Helena asks her a question, Sarah tends to…

_Tune her out_  is not expressly the correct way of putting it. It used to be, true; used to be anything the little lunatic said went straight on the backburner and stayed there, because Helena was  _mental_ , because Helena spoke without benefit of basic human logic, because Helena had killed several of them, and tried to kill several more before all was said and done. Helena was insane, and Sarah doesn’t sit well with your garden-variety psychosis in others. She’s got enough in her own head to deal with.

But things with Helena have progressed since then, in their own messy way. Introducing her to the real world was touch-and-go there—for a long time, Sarah would catch her fingering sharp objects around the flat, studying Alison with a suspicious eye, keeping a wary distance from Cosima. For a long time, she wasn’t sure this could all work out at all.

It was Kira who convinced her to give angel-clone a second shot—and a third, and a fourth, until Helena was, however reluctant Sarah is to admit it, a viable part of the family. Not someone with any sense of psychological stability, perhaps, and that Jell-O fixation has  _got_  to go, but she does trust Helena now in a way she would never have expected that first day, jamming rebar straight through the woman’s side. A hazy trust, yes. The sort of trust you shower upon a generally well-behaved child. A cautious optimism laced with the full expectation that she will make many mistakes.

In some ways, it’s like having two daughters now. She doesn’t like to think on that much. It’s in no way the life she’d planned for Kira and Felix and herself, having the angry angel around. But Helena is here, and Sarah suspects it is going to be that way for a while yet. She figures she might as well settle in, make the most of it.

Which does  _not_  mean, when Helena bats her eyes and puffs out her lip, Sarah is  _quite_  stupid enough to agree to letting her twin sister babysit her precious child.

Alison bustles through the door that evening with a large paper bag, giving the flat a wrinkled-nose once-over and thinking that Sarah is in no way a model mother—raising Kira among toxic painting materials and toxic Felix lifestyles is absurdly foolish—but at least she has the presence of mind to know when she is beaten. Helena doesn’t give up easily when she wants something. It’s good to know Sarah can handle that obstinate behavior, and counter with an ace of her own.

"Now remember," Alison tells the pair of them when Sarah has slipped out to meet Paul. " _I_  am in charge. So when I tell you it’s bedtime, Kira, I don’t want any sass."

"Sass," Helena whispers conspiratorially, and gives Kira a light nudge. The girl giggles. Alison’s eyebrows knit. 

"Now," she repeats stiffly. “I’ve brought some dinner—you like macaroni and cheese, Kira?"

"Yes!" Helena lights up like a batty-ass Christmas tree at the mention of food, her fingers scrambling to pull down one side of Alison’s bag-o’-goodies. Alison jerks away, wagging a finger.

"Helena, you’re going to help me with dinner, since you’re so excited about…that. Kira, would you like to paint while we work?"

Kira, it turns out, would much rather hover in the corner of Felix’s criminally-tiny kitchen and watch the struggle that commences. Helena seems to believe she is a  _culinary expert_  where Kraft mac-n-cheese is concerned. Helena is very wrong.

"And  _now_ ," she is saying as Alison rubs her forehead in frustration. “The sugar."

"We don’t  _need_  sugar," Alison snaps for the sixth time. She is in the process of stirring in the orange powder that almost passes for legitimate cheese in a child’s world, her eyes sliding repeatedly to the row of wine bottles set atop one of Felix’s hastily-constructed shelves. A drink, yes. A drink tonight might be essential. She usually prides herself on sobriety while looking after children, but she suspects Sarah will understand these circumstances quite well.

Helena is pouting, her arms folded on the counter, her chin nestled on top of them. “Always need sugar," she mutters. Kira slips over and presses a small hand to her hip, tugging on the ratty shirt she’s been wearing for (Alison surmises from the smell) a week straight. 

"It’s really good," she promises with a child’s eloquence, and nods toward Alison. “Auntie Alison is a great cook."

Alison preens a little, pressing her lips into a thin line to hide her smile. Helena grunts, but when a chipped bowl of mac-n-cheese is set in front of her, she demolishes the whole thing practically in a single breath. Disgusted, Alison turns her attention to Kira.

"Good?"

The brisk nod she receives is almost unnerving in its adultness. Kira has been looking more and more like Sarah every day, all curious eyes and sharp awareness. Alison supposes, with all the girl has been through, this isn’t so unexpected—but it breeds a certain sadness in her chest all the same. One of them has broken the mold. One of them has reproduced. Kira is a miracle, a wonder beyond science, easing into  _grace_. Kira is a wonderful child. She wishes she knew a way to keep that child safe, before fear and distrust strip her away and leave behind a ghost of innocence instead. 

Sarah’s childhood wasn’t a pleasant one. Alison is determined to make her daughter’s that much better.

"Hey," she says, delicately popping a forkful of noodles into her mouth and setting the bowl down. “You like games?"

Helena nods eagerly. Alison winces and ignores her. Helena’s games have been less than endearing in the past, as they tended to involve sniper rifles and dead women with her own face.

Kira is nodding as well, her fork lingering against the edge of her near-empty bowl. Alison smiles, reaches behind herself, and produces the largest item from her bag. 

"Can-dy-land," Helena reads carefully in a sort of sing-song that is half adorable, half horrifying. Alison gives the box a little shake.

"Does your mom play this with you?"

Even as the question leaves her lips, she tries to imagine Sarah moving a little gingerbread token around the board, flipping cards, laughing when she hits a snag and Kira rockets right past her. She tries to imagine Sarah reading off the ridiculous names on the cards—Princess Lolly, Queen Frostine,  _Plumpy_ —and something in her brain seems to fizzle in protest. This isn’t Sarah’s sort of game. Sarah’s game, like Helena’s, is much darker than anything Kira should be playing with.

Curious, taking the box from Alison’s hands and running her small fingers across its lid, Kira shakes her head. “What is it?"

"It’s easy," Alison says, thinking,  _Probably too easy, for you, but maybe that’s what you need right now. After everything._ "All you have to do is draw cards with colors on them, see, and get to the end of the trail before everyone else. Would you like to play?"

Kira nods and helps her clear a space (honestly, Felix lives in a  _jungle;_  how he manages it, Alison can never say) for the board. Helena, who watches this as a archaeologist might inspect an ancient civilization’s behavior patterns, speaks up only once.

"Shuffle?"

Her hand is outstretched, fingers twitching hopefully. Alison sighs and places the deck in her palm. If she’s going to be  _helpful_ , for once, Alison won’t begrudge her that much—though she sort of expects the cards to wind up strewn around the flat before all is said and done.

Variations on fifty-two-pick-up just seem Helena’s speed, is all she’s saying.

Amazingly, no such anarchy reigns. When next Alison glances over, Helena is arranging the neat little pile of cards, pushing the edges into place and smiling down at her handiwork. It’s actually sort of sweet, in a creepy Helena way. She hides her smile, explains the rules, and they’re off.

She’s not sure how many games either of her charges have been allowed to play over the years. Helena’s life was an admittedly enormous mess even before her killing spree, and although Mrs. S seems have treated Kira with perfect care and love, Alison has trouble imagining the stern-faced woman doling out the finer points of Go Fish. In truth, Candyland is probably a hair too simple for a child who once took all of fifteen seconds to recognize an imposter in her mother’s place—but Kira gets giggling pretty quickly, and Alison pats herself on the back for being a spectacular aunt.

Except…for the part where Helena manages to draw three character cards in a row, and is merrily trip-trapping her way across the board in record time. Alison is no expert at mathematical logistics, but she’s pretty sure, when Helena picks the Grandma Nutt card and surges even further ahead, that this is ridiculous. 

“ _How_  are you  _doing_  that?"

"She’s lucky," Kira says cheerfully, flipping over a blue square and gamely pushing her piece ahead. Helena beams.

"Yes. Luck."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Alison snaps. “Luck is just hard work, that’s all."

"Then she’s working hard at winning," Kira explains with a child’s maddening patience. Alison crosses her arms over her chest, scowling, and flips a card of her own. If she can just pull that stupid snowflake card, she’ll be past Helena, and Kira will see that cheating does no one any favors.

Nope. Yellow. Which puts her…

“ _Damn it_!" She hurls the card down, flicks her gingerbread token onto one of the three sticky squares on the board. If she’d had the presence of mind to buy the newest version of the game, this would only mean one lost turn, but this is the  _classic_  Candyland. She’s trapped on this square until she manages to flip another yellow card.

Helena is watching her with overbright, manic eyes. “Luck," she says cheerfully, “is God’s work. God is with me in the game of candy."

"There is no  _God_  in Candyland," Alison grumbles. Helena wags a finger at her.

"God is everywhere." Then, as she flips the next card: "See? God wishes me to win the candy."

She is holding up the Princess Lolly card with a sort of vibrant triumph. Alison’s jaw drops.

"You stacked the deck!"

"Did not." Her voice is firm, but her eyes flick spastically to the left.  _Left_ , Alison thinks dumbly,  _means lying, doesn’t it? Or was that up and to the right?_

Either way, it’s pretty obvious what’s happened here, especially when her next two turns fail to turn up a yellow card. Kira continues working her way methodically around the board, and Helena—

“ _Jesus_!" Helena has flipped up the snowflake and pranced her way over to Queen Frostine’s square, only inches from the end of the game. Alison scowls. “You are  _cheating_."

"No cheating. Only God," Helena swears, and grins so broadly, Alison can count her molars. She thumps a hand down on the table.

"You know there’s no actual candy at the end, right?"

Helena’s expression falters slightly. “No candy?"

"No candy," Alison confirms with aggressive pleasure. “So I hope you’re satisfied with yourself. You cheating little—"

"Double-green!" Kira announces, just loudly enough to shut down the argument before it can really get rolling. Alison huffs, closing her eyes and flipping the next card.  _Yellow yellow yellow—_

"Orange!" Helena points out gleefully, and Alison has a sudden fevered flash of the  _satisfaction_  that would undoubtedly stem from folding up this board and smacking her clone full in the face with it. 

(She then tries to imagine explaining the concussed lunatic thing to Sarah later on: “She was practically  _palming cards_! She was disgracing the name of Candyland in front of your child!  _Candyland_ , Sarah!" No, there really is no way to make that sound stable. She settles for stomping her way to Felix’s liquor corner—which boils down to just about any spare surface of the flat, actually—and pouring herself a nice large glass of red wine.)

"I win!" Helena announces not too long afterward, having produced two double-purple cards in a row, followed by a double-yellow (which she wagged beneath Alison’s nose, crooning, “You could have used this, yes?"). Alison bites her tongue hard enough to fill her mouth with copper, and swigs down half the wine in her glass in a single gulp.

"It is too bad," Helena adds as they’re cleaning up (as  _Kira_  is helping her clean up, Alison amends, since Helena has crossed back into the kitchen and is helping herself to the stash of M&Ms Felix keeps in the highest cupboard). “You were very stuck. I think God did not want you to explore the land of candy, hm?"

Alison glowers over the rim of her glass, clutching its stem hard enough to hurt her fingers. “Helena, I swear…"

"Thanks for the game, Alison," Kira cuts in hurriedly. “It was lots of fun."

It’s the sort of thing a child her age would not think to say in such a moment, if not for being…well, Sarah Manning’s child. Alison realizes with a flash of bemusement that Candyland is probably far too childish for a girl who has been through the traumas Kira has already dealt with, but the fact of this word,  _fun_ —and the innocent honesty of Kira’s smile—gives her a rush of warmth all the same. Kira really is a good kid, despite everything. She deserves a good life.

Better than a clone mother, clone aunts, a ramshackle flat which can only be locked via screwdriver jammed into the door, and a slight history of being struck by moving vehicles, for certain. 

She wonders if Kira will ever be allowed to embrace  _normal_  the way a child should. Perhaps not. There are too many variables where their little “family" is concerned, too much that has gone wrong or will go wrong down the line. Her mother is a clone. There is probably no coming back from that. 

Still, if she has any power to exact a little normalcy, Alison will snatch up that small opportunity. Maybe it will be too little, too late, and maybe it won’t matter at all in the long run, but…well, it’s what a good  _mother_  would do. A good aunt. A good…whatever she is.

"Kira? Bedtime in ten minutes, all right?"

Helena’s head snaps up, her lip pooching out. “But we have not played best two out of three!"

"I am never playing  _anything_  with you again," Alison says dryly. Kira laughs.

"I will, Helena, don’t worry. Next time, okay?"

Helena nods glumly, shoulders pulling up around her ears. Alison regards her for a long moment and sighs, knowing she will regret this decision just as soon as it comes out of her mouth.

"How about you put Kira to bed, Helena. Read her a nice bedtime story? Would that be all right with you, Kira?"

"Yes," Kira says instantly, and reaches for Helena’s hand. “Come on, I have to brush my teeth first. Then you can help me pick out pajamas!"

They scamper off to the back corner of the flat, where Sarah and Felix have set up two shabby blow-up mattresses side by side. Kira’s is festooned with several stuffed rabbits and a set of ancient Strawberry Shortcake sheets. Alison gazes at it, feeling a pang of longing in her chest for her own children, the ones she had no choice but to send off to safer pastures when the shit began hitting the clone-fan for real. 

_Someday_ , she tells herself without much confidence,  _I’ll get them back. Someday, it will all be okay again._

And, until then, she’ll have to make do with this. With watching Helena carefully contemplate two sets of pajamas (Batman winds up triumphing over Tinkerbell, much to Alison’s chagrin). With watching Kira slide into bed, pulling the most obviously well-loved of the rabbits against her chest. With the loving way Helena strokes the hair from Kira’s forehead and smiles, as Alison had never expected she could. This will have to be enough, for now.

It’s Sarah’s life, technically, not theirs—but Sarah shares. Sarah is kind that way, for all her gruff exterior. Sarah is kind in a lot of ways. She allows Cosima to play cross-country tutor when it comes to Kira’s homework troubles, and she allows Alison to teach Kira the finer points of ice-dancing on weekends, and she allows Helena to braid Kira’s hair into knotted flights of fancy that should never be granted the light of day. She allows a lot of things, because she  _knows_  how lucky she is. A biological child. A root tying her to the world. The rest of them could so easily come untethered, without a thing like that. The rest of them could so easily become nothing at all.

But Sarah won’t let that happen. Sarah, who once would have taken their money and run for God knows where. Sarah laces them all together.

Sarah, and Kira. Maybe Kira most of all.

Which is why Alison allows Helena the grace of sitting at Kira’s bedside, her legs crossed clumsily, her eyes darting in patterns across the ceiling as she struggles to think up a suitable story. Because Helena is crazy, there is no doubting that. Helena is the craziest of them all. But even crazy can use a little love now and again. Alison thinks it must be doing her some good.

"Once upon a time," Helena begins slowly, tapping her fingers with manic abandon across her knee, “there was a little girl. And a bazooka."

_Okay_. Alison closes her eyes, groping for the wine bottle again. Good takes time, she reminds herself. Maybe a lot of time. Maybe all the time in the world.

At least, with a family like theirs, Kira will never be bored.

 


End file.
